To Each One His Due
by saturns
Summary: Feeling discouraged by the path her life has been taking, Maggey begins volunteering at the local hospital. She learns of its mysterious terminal patient, who hasn't received visitors and is a rumored convict, and wonders if there's a kindred spirit in need of companionship.


Prompt: Maggey Byrde, on her quest to find a job she doesn't suck at, becomes a candystriper at the local hospital. She ends up taking care of Diego in his final days.

* * *

 _"Remark that I might just as well have been in his shoes and he in mine. If chance had not willed otherwise. To each one his due."_

 _\- Waiting for Godot_

After a string of jobs, finding herself a suspect in a murder case on three occasions, and feeling particularly down on her luck, Maggey Byrde had decided that her life needed a change of pace. At the very least, something different could help to get her back on her feet, both figuratively and often literally these days. Though as eager as she was to move into a new career, Maggey wondered if some volunteer work in the interim would keep her spirits lifted as she searched for a new position.

Three weeks later, Maggey found herself guided through the halls of one of the state's largest hospitals by an older woman with a gentle smile and a soft voice. Her name was Beth, she said, and she had been volunteering at the hospital since she retired three years ago. "Retirement's nice and all, but after a while you just start itchin' for something to _do_ ," she commented as she handed Maggey the volunteers' simple uniform: a long green jacket to be worn over street clothes. "And it can get busy here, let me tell you," she continued, "but I think you'll like it. 'Specially once you get to know some of the patients."

Beth gave a quick overview of a volunteer's responsibilities, where the kitchen was and what time meals were given, and how to navigate the seemingly endless corridors. Already Maggey's nerves had kicked in as she counted all of the opportunities for mistakes and silently wished she had brought a pen and paper along to write herself some notes. "You'll get the hang of it all, I promise. And I'll make sure to have a name tag ready for you the next time you're in."

As it turned out, Maggey had gotten accustomed to the hospital's schedule rather quickly. Perhaps the fact that her name had been spelled correctly on her tag was a sign that things were set to get off from a good start, but Maggey had found that the only real stress was becoming familiar with the building's floorplan. She got along easily with her fellow volunteers, some of which were older, some younger, but each pleasant enough to work alongside. A pleasant change from police that shunned her and homicidal prosecutors.

There was a high turnover rate for younger volunteers, they told her, since shifts often conflicted with their jobs sooner or later. "So don't fret if something comes up," one of the older volunteers said. "They understand."

Many of the patients warmed up to her quickly, and though she had yet to form a particularly strong attachment to anyone Maggey enjoyed their brief conversations just the same. Maggey had come to understand the trappings of isolation all too well, and extending the most basic act of friendliness seemed to be the least she could do for someone else. In only the short time since she began volunteering she had seen the ups and downs that hospital life brought. Some patients were in and out in only a few days, or even hours, recovering from a non-serious injury or outpatient procedure and eager to return to their everyday lives. Bringing in meals and stopping by on her rounds to ask if she could bring anything were largely the extent of their interactions.

Others had been admitted for quite some time, receiving few visitors and welcoming Maggey's innate desire to form bonds with those around her. She was delighted at the opportunities to hear of old war stories, lifetimes so rich and vividly recalled, and even the marvels of an older generation at the technologies of the present. The younger patients, too, showed her so many perspectives and Maggey was astounded at how easily she had connected with such a range of people. Friendly conversation highlighted her own need for companionship that was free from the constraints of rumors and reputations, and if she had one goal for her time spent volunteering, it was to give people the fair shot she felt she usually did not receive.

At two months in she felt comfortable, settling into the routine of the hospital and mostly remembering where each department was. While part of her waited for the inevitable screw-up she always thought was right around the corner, Maggey was mostly able to silence those thoughts and focus on all of the things she was doing right. But as she became more familiar with the hospital's layout, she began to realize that one room in the intensive care ward did not seem to be visited by her or any of her fellow volunteers. At first she assumed that it was simply unoccupied or rarely used, but as she passed through the hallway one afternoon she noticed that the card beside the door did in fact read "ROOM 53 - ARMANDO, D."

Maggey wondered why this one room appeared to have a particularly small amount of traffic coming and going throughout the day. Not wanting to appear nosy or disruptive, she had resisted the temptation to ask her coworkers during her next lunch break, instead paying careful attention to any areas of the hospital they may have mentioned during conversation. It wasn't until she resumed her rounds and found herself walking alongside a man who had been volunteering at the hospital for several months that Maggey finally gave in to her curiosity.

"You know, I've kind of been wondering," she began, her eyes purposefully averted and looking off to the side. "There's this room I haven't been asked to take meals to and I haven't heard anyone mention it. And I guess I'm just curious about why everyone's been so quiet about it. It's Room 53, down the hall and on the right here."

"Oh, that one. I'm surprised you didn't ask anyone sooner. Look, I don't like to gossip, and especially not about patients, but since you spend so much time around here it's only right that you know. There's rumors that the patient in that room is a convicted murderer, and he got moved here from prison because his condition suddenly got a lot worse. From what I've heard he's not doing well at all."

"Is that why people don't talk about him?"

"Well... it's made some of the volunteers nervous. But they don't mean any harm, they're just not exactly eager to get mixed up in anything. The hospital prefers it that way too, since fewer people getting to know him means fewer leaks to the press, and no media headaches for the staff."

"I see." Maggey paused for a moment, considering whether or not to ask the question on her mind. "In that case, do you think it'd be okay for me to visit him every so often?"

The man was visibly surprised at her response. "He's a patient like any other, and you've proven yourself to be reliable and honest. I would run it by the staff first, but I don't think they would interfere with a volunteer doing what's expected of them. But if you don't mind, can I ask why?"

She shrugged. "I know what it's like to have people avoid you without giving you a chance."

* * *

Maggey knocked on the door to Room 53 nervously before taking a step inside. "Mr. Armando?"

"You don't sound familiar," a voice answered. "You've got to be new if you walked in here by mistake and haven't backed out already."

He sounded tired, and as she got closer the deep, labored breaths in between sentences were explained by the oxygen tubes sitting just below his nose.

"M-my name is Maggey. I'm a hospital volunteer and I thought I may be able to bring you something, or that you'd just like some company for a bit."

"It's not often that the kitten walks right into the lion's den. You can call me Diego, though it's been a lifetime since I've gone by that name."

As Maggey took a seat near his bedside there was something about him that struck her as familiar. His hair was stark white and his eyes a cloudy grey that grabbed her attention as much as the raised scar that ran across the bridge of his nose. But despite the small feeling nagging at her mind she couldn't place him.

"I can't see very well these days, if you're wondering. Too much caffeine." He smirked, and Maggey would be sure he was joking if not for the tone of his voice. "I'm sure you've heard about me, and I can tell you it's probably true."

"With all due respect, sir... Diego, as far as I'm concerned, you're a patient like any other."

"You're direct, no nonsense. I like that, though if we weren't in a hospital I'd be asking if you were a cop. So what brings you here, Maggey?"

Maggey relaxed slightly, feeling a little more sure of herself. "I've liked getting to know patients, that's all. I was surprised we hadn't met."

"I don't exactly get visitors looking for me. Not too many people make it a point to come see a dying inmate. Can't say I blame them."

He had been trying to sound detached, she was sure, but guilt clung to every word. Maggey hadn't been an officer for very long, but she had seen enough of the worst criminals to know who fit the type, and it wasn't the man in front of her.

"I could come by every so often. I'll be in again the day after tomorrow."

"Your call. You know where to find me." She could see that his eyes were growing heavy, as he was likely tired out by carrying on a conversation. She rose from her seat and wished him a good evening, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Two days later, Maggey found herself returning to Diego's room. She was guided by equal parts curiosity and sympathy, eager to know more about the mysterious man but also not content to leave him to solitude. He greeted her when she walked in, saying that he could tell it was likely her by the sound of her footsteps. Nothing like the doctors and nurses, he added, who was loud and fast and not too keen on small talk.

"Can I bring you anything or call a nurse? Are you in pain?" she asked.

"I haven't let them give me painkillers since they brought me here. Call it part of my sentence. Not a whole lot they can do for me now anyway," he replied dryly.

Maggey debated between asking if he was _really_ all right and changing the subject out of politeness when he continued.

"A few years back, I had a run-in with some poison. Turns out these things have a way of catching up to you."

"I see," was all she could manage to answer. Memories of watching Glen Elg drink from a poisoned cup and collapse right in front of her before she lost consciousness herself came to mind. "I have no tolerance for those who poison others."

"I poisoned myself a good amount along the way. It only takes one drop and before you know it, the whole brew's gone bad." Once again, he was smirking when she looked over, leaving Maggey to wonder if the ambiguity was to make up for his earlier moment of bluntness. "I'm not usually one to talk so much, you know. Must be my old age. So then, tell me how a nice girl like you got started here."

"I've had some rough spots lately. More so than usual, I mean. I seem to find myself in these awful situations even though I try to stay on the right track. I try so hard..." At that, Maggey realized that Diego's expression had softened slightly. "But it's nothing new. People have told me I'm bad luck since I was a kid and that's okay, I don't really mind it. I can handle it if it's just me, but when other people get dragged into my issues, I've only got myself to blame."

Diego's face was unreadable, features pushed together in thought, and Maggey directed her eyes toward the floor once more. "I'm sorry, I don't think I really answered your question. I wanted something new, and my first thought was to go somewhere I could be of help to people. That maybe instead of spreading my own misfortune I'd be able to be able to bring something good to someone's life. Or maybe I'm just setting my expectations too high."

He was silent for a moment before simply replying, "There are worse things."

* * *

Maggey made a point to stop by Diego's room a few times a week, though some days he was too fatigued to do anything other than give her a weak wave. His breathing had become more erratic, but on the days where he did have the strength to talk, she noticed that he held on to his sense of humor.

Most of her time spent by his room consisted of the usual lighthearted conversation Maggey tried her best to make as a hospital volunteer and the occasional question about her beverage of choice. While tidying up his hospital room with fresh supplies or sorting through materials for pamphlets she was tasked with putting together, Diego often needled her about trying the various types of coffee he was sure the hospital kept stocked in their cafeteria and reporting back to him with the details. "Just enough to get a good comparison. You could write notes, if that's easier," he had joked. She admitted that she did miss her coffee days.

Though she dared not ask if he had any relatives or friends in the area, it was clear that a deep loneliness hung over Diego. It seemed that he wasn't exaggerating when he told her that he didn't receive visitors, but regardless it would have been easy for her to recognize someone who was on the outskirts. After all, it was usually where she found herself.

"Feeling a lot more tired these days," he said one afternoon. "But I suppose I should be grateful. Being here's the only way I was going to get out of those four walls any time soon."

"Maybe one of the doctors can give you something else. They've got a lot here, from what I can tell, a-and it's one of the best hospitals around. They can help... I'm sure..."

"I've made enough mistakes for one life as it is and I haven't got too much tying me here anymore. The entirety of my belongings is sitting over there in the corner of the room. Puts a lot into perspective when your life can be reduced down to a bed and a box. But I've never been one to overstay my welcome, that's one of my rules."

She nodded silently and went about the rest of her tasks before she had to resume her rounds. Maggey asked if she could page a doctor or nurse once more, get him some water, or do anything that might alleviate some needless discomfort, but Diego declined.

As she was on her way out of the room she heard him speak. "You've been kind, Maggey. That feels like more than enough."

"I've always thought we could all use a little more kindness, sir."

* * *

The week after her most recent visit, Maggey could hear voices inside of Diego's room, but when she entered she found an empty bed and two members of the hospital staff prepping equipment to be wheeled out of the room.

"Where's Mr. Armando?" she asked, though she was sure she already knew the answer.

"Maggey! Oh, Maggey, I'm sorry," the woman responded in a gentle tone. "Mr. Armando passed away early this morning." She offered a sympathetic look, fully aware that volunteers were not as accustomed to the life and death of a hospital as long-term staff were. "I know you two had bonded. In fact, he mentioned you the other day, you know, and he gave me very clear instructions about what was left for you."

"For me?"

The technician turned and walked to the back of the room and opened the cabinets along the wall. "I know I left it in one of these... here we go." She returned with a small bag, likely a leftover from the hospital's unused supply, and handed it to Maggey. "If you want to take a moment for yourself, go ahead. We've got things handled here."

Maggey nodded and made her way to the benches just inside the hospital's doors. It was part volunteering at a hospital, and Maggey was no stranger to death around her, but she felt a dull sting at the loss of a man who she had enjoyed getting to know, if only briefly.

She took a seat and pulled the thin paper bag open, retrieving a plain white ceramic mug with a piece of paper sticking out from inside it. Balancing the mug on her lap, she pulled the note out and unfolded it. It was written in a very neat handwriting, likely dictated to one of the staff, and the red ink was bright against the creased paper.

 _M._

 _Thanks for letting me make the most of what was left. But fate is fate, no matter how cruel, and mine was a long time coming. So here you go, enjoy a cup of joe on me._

 _\- D._

And, smiling to herself, she moved to go to the hospital's cafeteria and do just that.


End file.
